


Long Overdue

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Cannon Divergence, Gen, outsiders perspective, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 06:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: After the stunt Talia just pulled, it's about time Bruce had a conversation with her.





	Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished reading Super Sons #14 and honestly Talia just ticks me off. She's so awful. This scenario popped into my head, because I really do hope Bruce does something about it. I wrote it from an outsiders perspective, because why not? Also I love stuff like that. So here.

Covering charity balls was not an assignment anyone particularly enjoyed, especially not Peter Thompson. It was important, though, to cover what Gotham’s socialites were doing. At least, that’s what his boss had told him when he ordered Peter attend the Wayne Foundation Charity Ball at the Wayne Manor. Sometimes, if they were lucky, one of the city’s many villains attacked and offered a much more interesting story. Peter wasn’t entirely upset that he did not come up with a more interesting story in that manner. He could go without being held hostage. 

At least the food was good. There was an open bar, of course, but Peter decided to nurse a ginger ale all night. He was working, after all.

He never thought his boring puff piece assignment about how _wonderful_ Bruce Wayne and the Wayne Foundation were—Peter couldn’t even think that phrase non-sarcastically—would offer him a much more interesting story. Perhaps, a page one story. Maybe. If the Joker didn’t break out again. 

It began while he was chatting with none other than Bruce Wayne himself. The man was a joke. A sad, pathetic excuse for a human. It was only 9pm, barely an hour into the ball, and the man was drunk. Nearly falling over drunk, at that. Wasn’t this supposed to be about charity? Why was he making such a fool of himself? Who was even buying this philanthropist facade anyway? 

Peter had asked Wayne why he had chosen animal shelters this year to support through the foundation. It was kind of strange, a deviation from the usual children’s organizations he supported. But who knew with Bruce Wayne. He probably had one of his ‘people’ tell him that American love puppies. Save puppies, people will love you. 

Wayne, of course, didn’t really answer his question. Instead, he went off on a long tangent about horseback riding, his speech half slurred as he constantly interrupted himself all while calling the reporter ‘Peterson.’ At least it was kind of close to his name. 

In the middle of a particularly confusing sentence, Mr. Wayne froze. His expression sobered instantly, and a cold steel spiked into his eyes as he glared at something behind Peter. The reporter turned to follow the older man’s gaze, and saw a strange sight. 

It was little Damian Wayne, but he looked nothing like he normally did in public. Nothing like the tabloid pictures. He wasn’t appropriately dressed for a ball. At all. In fact, Peter had never seen a picture of the kid this under-dressed. Ever. The Wayne kids were always sporting the most expensive clothing imaginable, never anything less than business casual. It was always strange seeing young children dressed so nicely, but that was the Waynes for you. 

Tonight, however, Damian was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair was a mess, and it was probably the best looking thing on him. The boy looked like he had been through the wringer. He had a black eye, for one, and obvious bruises all over his arms. If that wasn’t horrifying enough to see on a 13-year-old, the look of terror on his face was enough to make Peter want to murder whoever put it there. And he didn’t even know the kid. 

Peter turned back to Mr. Wayne to see cold hard rage build up in the man’s blue eyes. Rage. At Damian. Holy shit had he just stumbled onto the story of a lifetime. 

There had always been rumors, of course, that Wayne beat his kids. They had strange injuries often enough, broken bones, black eyes, but no one really talked about it much. He was _Bruce Wayne_ , and negative comments about the man in public could be considered slander. Peter would have to make sure he was certain, if he were to publish this story. Being wrong about this could cost him his career. 

No one really seemed to notice the child’s entrance to the room. Except for Wayne, of course. 

“Damian,” the man breathed. His tone was off, not what he was expecting from the man he just saw turn to rage. “What happened?” he demanded as he walked toward the boy and ushered him out the room, away from the guests. A few had looked over by then, and seemed mildly disturbed by the sight, as well. 

“I’m sorry, Father. I forgot you had company,” Peter heard the child say, as they walked away from the room. 

After relieving himself of his glass, Peter made his way down towards where Wayne and the boy had just disappeared. He knew the bathroom was in that direction, so if he were caught, he could just use that as an excuse. It was an old trick, but hopefully it would work. Maybe. He didn’t actually care, if Wayne were hurting that child he was going to stop it. 

He crept down the hall until he could hear the pair’s voices. They were hushed. Neither one angry. That was good, right? Well, good for the boy. Maybe bad for Peter’s chance at a story, but was that really bad? He’d probably rather not have anything for this story. He wasn’t a monster. Not like some reporters who put the story above the people. This was just a child, after all. Even if he were a spoiled brat. 

“Talia,” he heard Wayne say, ”Talia was here? In Gotham?” 

“Yes, Father. I told her I would inform you of her presence.” 

“And she,” the man paused, strong emotion clear in his voice, “ _attacked_ you? At your school?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay." Wayne sighed. "Okay, I’ll handle it. Go to bed, Damian. Try not to get spotted by anyone, okay? We don’t need this in the press. Get some rest, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Peter ducked into a closet, hoping to hide from the little Wayne as he passed by in the hall. Bruce Wayne’s entire demeanor had changed dramatically. Was he actually even drunk? He didn’t sound the least bit impaired, but not 10 minutes ago he was having trouble staying on one train of thought. And who was ‘Talia’ and why on earth would she attack a child at a school? 

The closet he was in shared a wall with the room with Wayne, so when the man started talking on the phone, Peter could hear every word. At least, every one of Wayne’s words. 

“Don’t ‘beloved’ me. What the fuck were you thinking?”

The swish of a chair was heard as Wayne stood. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Why did my son return home tonight injured?”

“He’s 13! You don’t teach a 13 year old a fucking lesson by beating him.” 

“I don’t care! Touch my son again, lift one goddamn finger toward him, and I will hunt you down and make your life miserable.”

“No. Absolutely not, why the fuck would I-

“No, he is not your son, too. You disowned him, don’t you remember?”

“I don’t care what the fucking law says, you told him he was your enemy. That’s disowning him. You forfeit all claim to him. He’s mine. Come near him again and you’ll regret making me your enemy.” 

“He’s not an object, Talia. He is a child. My child. If I find you’ve been near his school, or anywhere in Gotham, you’ll live to regret it. Do you understand?”

“If he wants to speak to you when he’s 18, then he can do whatever he wants. But right now? Right now he’s 13 and I am forbidding him from having any further contact with you.”

“Well you should have thought about that before you beat the shit out of him tonight.”

Peter jumped when a loud thud came from the other side of the wall, and what sounded like a cellphone breaking into a few pieces clattered to the ground. Mr. Wayne let out a muted growl like scream that sent shivers down Peter’s back. The man was scary when angry. 

This was not the story Peter was expecting. This- huh.

Bruce Wayne was not the man Peter believed him to be. 

Wayne returned to the party half an hour later, his drunkenness on full display once again. The underlying rage hidden from his eyes once more. Now, however, Peter knew it was an act. It was fake. Why? He had no idea. Why would he let all of Gotham think he were some alcoholic playboy who possibly mistreated his kids, when he so clearly loved his son enough that the fact that anyone, especially the boy's mother, had hurt him sent him into a fit of rage. Very justified rage. 

That night, Peter returned to his apartment to write the story of a lifetime. Well, as far as celebrity gossip could be, at least. ‘Damian Wayne attacked by Mother Talia.’ He worked on the story for hours, tweaking every paragraph. Wrote up an email to his editor, attached the word document, and then just sat there. Staring at the screen. His cursor hovering over the ‘send’ button. 

Could he really do this? 

That conversation had been private. They thought it was private. This was a child’s life. A 13-year-old had been beaten by his mother today, and Peter was about to tell the entire world it happened. He- He was a reporter. This was what reporters did. This was what reporters for the gossip column did.

No. 

Instead, he attached the piece about Wayne donating to humane societies because his young son loved animals. Mr. Wayne hadn’t exactly told him that, but the man was ‘drunk,’ right? He shouldn’t be able to remember his conversations. And he could use some positive press like this. Now that Peter knew he really did love his son, this wasn’t too far of a stretch. Everyone knew the young Wayne collected animals like the older Wayne collected children, so it only followed that he would donate to save animals like he already did to save children. 

Bruce Wayne really wasn’t a bad guy, after all.


End file.
